You asked me
by WizandWexie
Summary: Short stories dedicated to talking about ones past.
1. Strong Roots

Hello dears! This is wizbeth again. I thought I would start posting short stories to let my creativity out. These first go on my tumblr and you can ask me to write you a story there, though I don't mind the pm message here. I just know how to use tumblr better. This was written for **lumariafloris**, an Rping blog.

"Marluxia How do you get your garden to grow?"

Marluxia placed his book down on the side table closest to him. Larxene was the new kid on the block. She was full of questions (And demands) But this was the first time she had asked about his flowers. In fact this was the first time anyone had taken an interest in the flowers that decorated certain parts of the castle. Most had assumed dusk had taken them from unsuspecting couples or from the bedsides of hospitals. Both were incorrect of course, he had in fact grown all the flowers, arranged all the pieces, and set them himself. Still no one had given it a second thought until Larxene had opened her mouth. His eyes wondered over to the young woman in question. She was running her finger alone a delicate lily pedal.

"You know I remember asking someone else the same question."

"Nana how come you're flowers grow so big?"

Lumaria's Grandmother or nana was known for her spectacular flower displays. People from all around this world would ask her to make arrangements for their formal occasions, weddings, or for a sick family member. A lot of people paid top dollar for the bouquets; So much even it had made her uncomfortable to accept it. There was an upside to this; she could use the extra money to cover for people who couldn't afford to pay.

She was kind like that. But she was growing too old; her hands would soon become so ridden with arthritis that tending even the smallest pansy would be impossible. Now she had hoped to pass the business onto her daughter, but she had noticed over the years that her daughter had a black thumb. When her daughter announced she was going to have a baby she was hopefully again. Maybe she would have a granddaughter with a green thumb. That wasn't the case when Lumaria was born. He was a boy; Nana had assumed that he wouldn't want anything to do with plants with the exception of trampling over them.

The little boy had surprised her though. He detested the thought of even hurting a plant. Her daughter had once complained that "Lumaria got sent to the principal's office for giving a boy a bloody nose today. His excuse was he had to protect the Daisies! That's so ridiculous!"

Nana of course didn't see a problem with it. Lumaria's small hand took hers.

"Nana is your brain wondering?"

"You are so right. Silly me!"

He giggles a bit then begins to stroke one of the rose leaves.

"My flowers grow so because I talk to them dear."

His small eyes widen. "That works?"

"Well I don't just talk to them. I have to speak to the goddesses too."

"The goddesses?"

She taps his nose. "Yes my dear. In this world there are special beings who watch over everything from flowers, to dogs and to little boys like you. If you talk nicely to your flowers and care for them every day, the goddesses will notice that and help you. Now let's go inside, it's time for dinner."

After dinner Nana joins her daughter in front of the kitchen window. Lumaria was looming over a recently planted rose bush, talking very loudly to it.

"I swear mother you are filling that boy's head with nonsense."

Nana watches her daughter stalk off. She turns her attention back to her grandson, a hand over her heart. His mother may not understand this but he had a gift. One she hoped he hoped he would use for the rest of his life. Lumaria's grandmother died a few days later of a heart attack, leaving him with emptiness in his chest.

The sharp point of a boot pressed into the side of his cheek and gives him a good shake.

"Hey quit wondering off into space!"

He moves her foot off with one of his fingers.

"I speak to my flowers. In the hope that someone will listen to me and help me out."

Larxene wasn't sure how to respond to him. Any normal person would say that his response would be one of an old fool. Except to her at least, for some reason the way Marluxia had said it made perfect sense. She decides not to respond. Her long fingers pluck the Lily from the vase and inhale its sweet smell.


	2. The Forest

The Forest

My mother always told me that the men in our family belonged in the forest. Her brothers, father, uncles, and grandfather had all worked in the back forests. I never understood why but that was how things where. They have never told me this; In fact I don't ever recall meeting any of them. The only other family I knew was my grandmother. I had asked about my father before but it would always make her go quiet. Sometimes she would cry, so I just learned to stop asking.

We would go out on the weekends for picnics. The two of us would sit there all afternoon among the trees. She would tell me the stories grandmother would tell her as a child. There was one story, that I was only told once, that's stuck with me.

"There was a knight, most feared for his furious nature. When he set foot on the battle field everyone would know because death would stand with him. He was so merciless they called him the wolf. Do you know why?"

I would look at her and reply. "A wolf can't eat what is alive."

"That's right." She would say as she scuffed my hair. I would let her run her hand through my hair while she finished her stories. The sun would shine through the leaves; sometimes I would even fall asleep. That was the last time we went out to the forest together.

No one told me how my mother had died. I begged my grandmother but she wouldn't budge. At the funeral no one would look at me, my uncles had shown up. Just for a moment only to lay flower in my mother's coffin. They never even acknowledged I was there. No one did. My grandmother wasn't really the type for the comforting grandma role. She was not completely insensitive; she was the only one who stayed with me during the service.

I watched them carry my mother's coffin to the crematorium. Grandmother said she would want her ashes spread in a meadow in the forest. She told me that's where she met my father while they were on a hunting trip. That was the only information I had received of my father.

A man comes to me. He was wearing the standard black suit with old shoes. His hair was blonde and wild all over his head. He kneels down in front of me, his eyes where bright green and sad. "I know you don't know me but I knew your mother very well. She helped me through a tough time in my life and was one of my best friends in high school. I'm so sorry this had to happen to you, Isa."

My grandmother had gone to talk to someone, He grabs my hand it felt rough and course.

"I have some of your mother's things from high school and I figured you would want them now."

I managed to choke out a thank you.

I was move out of my solitary cabin home to live closer in the city. It was weird, the people next door where so close that they complained almost constantly about the noise Since I was the only kid in the nehboor I was blamed for a lot of the things that happened to go wrong. Even when I wasn't there. I stayed inside most of the time with the box I had received from the man at the funeral. Most of the stuff was from when my mom was in high school. Awards, old A+ papers, a photo album and a couple of prom souvenirs. I kept that box underneath my bed.

School came around in only a couple of weeks. I was going to one of the nicer public schools and had to wear a uniform, which to me was a foreign concept to me. The school I went to didn't care what you were wearing as long as you were wearing something.

The first semester was 2 weeks in so I should have no problems getting situated. Or that's just what the consoler tells to every student. The consolers made me wait in the office while the figured out my teacher. I had been sat across from a red headed boy who looked like he had been in a fight recently. I couldn't help but stare at his black eye. He was bright red headed kid wearing the same white button up shirt and khaki pants.

"What are you looking at?"

"Your black eye."

I have the feeling he didn't like that sarcastic comment, so I start talking to him.

"Why are you here?"

"I got in a fight what's it look like?"

I should have guessed he would reply like that.

"Why where you fighting?"

That had stubbed him. I watched him narrow in on me with his green eyes. He then licked his bleeding lip and replied.

"There's a bunch of jerk kids who go here. Older kids. They said something bad about my mom. I punched one of them in the face and pretty soon it was a big brawl. I managed to get one of them into the nurse's office."

My mom had moved out closer to the wilderness so she could be closer to dad. The area was really small so everyone knew each other. Insulting someone would result in some type of mini up roar in town. Everyone would avoid doing it. Lea continued with his story.

"They called her white trash and said she ran off with someone else to avoid raising me. It's not true but I don't want people to think badly of her."

"That's really bad."

The counselor comes back and motions for the boy. "Lea Wells come in here, Isa we will be with you in a second."

I didn't notice this before but there was a man in the office. The same man who had been at the funeral. Lea must have been his son; I didn't know I didn't ask his name. There was only one way to find out.

I dug through the cardboard box and found the photo album. It was an old one; the blue cover was dingy and peeling. I begin to study its pages. They contained memories from my mother's early life. From her baby pictures I could see how chubby she had been, in her elementary school pictures I could see how small she was compared to her older brothers. My grandmother didn't have any sort of pictures of her on display; maybe it was just too painful to see her daughter. I finally find her high school photos. A whole section had been dedicated to her final four years in public schooling. I find a page that looked like it had been torn out of a normal year book; I run my finger across the pictures. James Wells was the first one I recognized he and Lea shared the same green eyes. My mother was in the next row down, Yue Wick.

I turn the page again to find color photos James had been one of my mother's friends, they were in a bunch of photos together. James would always have an arm around a red haired woman, who could possibly be Lea's mother, and my mother would have her arm around her. I find that woman's name was Mia Leah. I wonder when the last time my mother seen or talked to them. I'm on the last page now this one only had a newspaper article.

"Several nurses are killed in a hospital shoot out."

Mia Wells was a t the top of that list. I silently close the book and put it away.

A week later Lea comes back to school. He had spent most of class by himself but at lunch I sat by him. I figured that if our parents could be friends then Lea and I could become friends. Maybe one day I can show him the forests that I grew up in and tell him the stories my mother told me.


End file.
